


Never Just a Thing

by echoes_of_another_life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For years, Sam had wanted to tell Dean. Had wondered what Dean would say if he told him the truth, but he figured Dean would be a monumental jerk, or worse claim that it was Sam’s disastrous track record with women that had made him look elsewhere. When the truth was, Sam had always known…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Just a Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citrusjava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusjava/gifts).



Never Just a Thing  


Sam shook his head, his hand hovering over his empty glass, a signal that he was done for the night and watched as Dean poured himself another glass of whiskey. He toyed with the index card in his hand, ready to be filed under “Thule” and wondered how exactly he should file Dean’s “Gay Thing.”

He could just ask but knowing Dean he would probably brush it aside or make a stupid remark about it being an easy mistake, being so irresistible and all, but that didn’t explain Dean’s look of disappointment, or him describing Aaron as “his” gay thing. 

For years, Sam had wanted to tell Dean. Had wondered what Dean would say if he told him the truth, but he figured Dean would be a monumental jerk, or worse claim that it was Sam’s disastrous track record with women that had made him look elsewhere. When the truth was, Sam had always known. Sure there was Jessica, and Sam had been attracted to her, had loved her. There’d been others since, but none that satisfied for longer than it took to put his pants back on except Jess, and maybe Amelia. It wasn’t as if Sam was actively looking elsewhere because if he were honest, he’d never really had to look far.

“You sure you don’t want another?” Dean asked. He held the bottle in the air for a moment before placing it back down on the cabinet. 

Sam smiled briefly, and shook his head. He wondered if maybe now would be a good time to tell Dean what he really wanted, had always wanted.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I…” Sam began. 

“Changed your mind?” Dean asked.

“No, I think I’m just going to call it a night,” Sam said instead. He turned his back on Dean and the thought that now was the right time, and headed in the direction of his room.

“Is everything okay?” Dean asked. 

“Fine, I’m just tired,” Sam replied. 

“It’s just you’ve been acting a little weird since we got home. Well, more weird than usual.” Dean grinned. 

“It’s nothing. I’m going to bed.” Sam said, and left the room without a backward glance. 

It was an hour later when Sam heard footsteps outside his door. He could have sworn they halted, just briefly. The same as he imagined most nights, but then he heard the soft click of Dean’s door and felt some of the disappointment Sam was sure he’d seen on Dean’s face earlier. 

The whole thing was ridiculous. He should simply walk in there, and tell him. What’s the worst that could happen? Dean would make a joke or be a dick about it; it’s not like he wasn’t used to both, and it’s not like Dean didn’t react the same. There were times when they were younger, and even later when Dean would get pissed at Sam for having friends, relationships that didn’t include Dean. It wasn’t like what they had was normal, but this was more than that, more than friends. Maybe he could use that drink after all. He placed his book down on the bedside cabinet, pulled on his jeans, grabbed a T-shirt and quietly opened his door, made his way back to the main living quarters, and poured himself a tall glass of the Men of Letter’s finest. 

“Are we going to keep up the pretence or are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

Sam stiffened. He was sure he’d been quiet, at least not loud enough to be heard above the low hum of music coming from Dean’s room. Just this once Sam missed the times before Purgatory when Dean would drink enough that he actually slept. “I told you.”

“Nothing, I know. I also know when you’re lying.” Dean smirked but its humour failed to reach his eyes. 

Sam took a deep breath, and shook his head. “Dean, I…”

“What?” 

“It should have been me,” Sam blurted before he could think himself out of it. 

Dean frowned, waited for Sam to turn around, to continue, or explain, but Sam remained quiet; his back to Dean, and took a long swallow from his drink. 

“Sam?”

“Nothing, forget it.” Sam put his glass down, turned around, and made to walk past Dean; his gaze determinedly averted from the one person who’d always read him so easily.

“Hey.” Dean reached out, took hold of Sam’s arm and held him fast. “What the hell?”

“This.” Sam wrenched free of Dean’s hold, pushed him back against the cabinet and smashed their mouths together. Not even a kiss, no finesse, just insistent pressure, held for a moment. “It should have been me,” Sam breathed softly as he stepped back, kept hold of Dean’s gaze, just for a second longer, and waited for Dean to lash out with his fists, or his words. Dean did neither. 

Instead, he pulled Sam back in, and kissed him. Not hard like Sam had done, but softer, slower, coaxing Sam closer as Dean deepened the kiss, his arms circling Sam’s waist and working a path down, past narrow hips to cup Sam’s ass.

“Dean?” Sam whispered. 

“Shhh… not a word,” Dean murmured, and closed his mouth back over Sam’s. One hand nestled against the small of his brother’s back, keeping Sam close, while the other slid upward to tangle in soft chestnut bangs as Dean’s tongue dipped, and tasted, and teased. 

Sam was tempted to pull free. He wondered, briefly, if he’d just handed Dean the chance to end his curiosity but then Dean groaned, whispered Sam’s name as his hand tightened in Sam’s hair. It was deep, ragged, and desperate sounding, part plea, and part satisfaction; like Dean had waited his entire life for just this moment. Sam breathed it in, saw the longing in Dean’s eyes moments before Dean’s eyelids flickered shut.

“Shit, Dean,” Sam gasped. He opened his mouth, kissed Dean back, his lips saying everything Sam had wanted to say, to tell Dean but didn’t know how. He reached for Dean; his hand skimming Dean’s hip as he stepped closer, pushed Dean up against the filing cabinet and made a space for himself between his brother’s thighs. 

“Wanted this,” Sam said, the words breathed into Dean’s hair. “For so long.”

“Sammy?” Dean groaned. 

Sam breathed in, and back out, short ragged puffs of air, his mouth skirting across Dean’s hair-roughened cheek, lingered for a second as Sam nipped at the corner of Dean’s mouth, sucked on Dean’s bottom lip tasting whiskey and want before continuing, down Dean’s jaw.

“Bedroom, now?” Dean groaned. 

“Mine or yours,” Sam breathed. 

“Don’t care,” Dean said, “the closest.” He pulled back, reluctant, and pushed Sam in the direction of the door, and hastily followed behind, quickening his pace as they neared Sam’s room. 

Sam opened the door and stopped. 

“We don’t have to,” Dean said. 

“I want to,” Sam said. “But I want it to be more, not just…” Sam paused, waited for Dean to laugh, or call him a girl, but Dean just smiled. He stepped into the room, closed the door, and pushed Sam in the direction of the bed, and down onto the mattress. 

“It’s okay,” Dean said, his gaze wandering the full expanse of Sam’s body; his broad shoulders, the plain, baggy T-shirt that tried and failed to hide Sam’s narrow waist, or the hint of bare skin where soft cotton rode up to reveal the smattering of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts. A warm, loving smile played at the corners of Dean’s full lips as he rested one knee on the bed, leaned forward and braced both hands flat out in front of him, palm down to bear his weight as he edged closer to kiss his brother. A brief, momentary touch of his lips against Sam’s, soft, and reassuring, before lifting his other leg to straddle Sam’s hips. Dean lingered to admire the view before taking hold of the hem of his own shirt and tugging it up and over his head. 

Sam swallowed. He reached for his own shirt, but Dean stayed Sam’s hand, and leaned over to push the hem of Sam’s T-shirt a fraction to reveal tanned skin, and taut muscles that tensed beneath Dean’s touch. He slid his palms upward, taking Sam’s shirt with him and bent forward to place an open-mouthed kiss just above the waistband of Sam’s jeans. 

Dean glanced up, held his breath, then released it, and asked, “Okay?” 

Sam nodded. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, and lifted up on to his elbows. “More than.” Sam grinned, and pressed his mouth to his brother’s, felt Dean’s tongue snake forward to trace, linger, and taste as Dean came down hard against Sam and brought Sam closer, shifted, and groaned, loud as Sam rocked their hips together, and deepened the kiss. 

Sam’s tongue traced the outline of Dean’s lips, coaxing them to part further, slid into the warmth of Dean’s mouth, plunging and retreating, teasing, needing to be closer still, to make Dean want the way Sam wanted, to feel the way Sam felt. He bit down on the sensitive corner of Dean’s mouth, and took them both past the point of no return, no going back, not now, not ever as he lifted his hips hard against Dean’s cock. 

Both stilled, neither said a word, just breathed in, and out, harsh, ragged, both, as Sam looked up at Dean. Hazel into green, and then Sam released the button on Dean’s jeans and felt his brother’s mouth crash against his own. 

“Jesus fuck, Sam,” Dean groaned. He pulled back, too impatient to touch, pushed Sam’s shirt all the way up to his shoulders, causing goose bumps to appear on smooth skin, and helped Sam pull it over his head. He slid one hand, slow, down the hard slab of Sam’s stomach, just a soft feather-light touch. All the way to the waistband of Sam’s jeans, looked at Sam and then pulled the button free to slide his hand inside. His fingers curling slowly around Sam’s cock, as Sam bucked his hips, lifted into Dean’s touch and groaned. 

“Gonna make it so good Sam,” Dean promised, savouring the sound of Sam’s pleasure. He nipped at Sam’s exposed skin, anywhere, and everywhere he could reach. He circled his tongue around Sam’s navel, dipped inside, and lower. He grazed his teeth across Sam’s hip bone, and fisted his cock, slow and steady, up toward the head, and back down, all the way to the base, kissed his way up Sam’s stomach, as he lifted himself up. Bit and sucked his way along Sam’s collarbone, and toward the hard peak of his nipple, circling it was his tongue. 

“Oh, God,” Sam moaned. He tangled his fingers in the short spikes of Dean’s hair, held him there. Part of him still waiting for Dean to make light of the situation, to laugh and say, “Just call me Dean,” but he didn’t. Instead, Dean flicked Sam’s erect nipple with his tongue, grazed his teeth back and forth over the sensitive peak, before trailing open-mouthed kisses back down the heated skin of Sam’s stomach, while his hand pushed over the head of Sam’s cock, fingers sliding through pre come and dipped his tongue into Sam’s navel once more. 

“Please,” Sam whined. Instinctively realising that Dean was waiting for permission, waiting for Sam to say it was okay. “Please,” Sam begged. 

Dean paused. He lifted his head to stare at Sam, and pulled his hand free to tug at Sam Jeans, dragging them down past Sam’s hips, lower still as Dean shifted further down the bed, and then slid his hands back up Sam’s thighs. He glanced up to see Sam arch his neck. His eyes closed, a look of pleasure washing over his face as Dean licked a stripe up the hard length of Sam’s cock, watched the muscles in Sam’s neck contract as Sam swallowed then moaned loudly.

 

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean whispered, quiet, and lowered his head. He stroked his tongue along Sam’s cock, licking and teasing around the ridge and over the tip before finally taking him in. Deep into the warmth of his mouth, sucked hard, and used his free hand to coax Sam’s legs wide and teased a finger between Sam’s ass cheeks to circle Sam’s hole. He gripped the base of Sam’s cock as he sucked harder, all the way down, and back up. 

Sam groaned, louder, longer and, almost there. “Dean, I need, please?”

Dean eased back, released Sam’s cock, slowly, planted a kiss on Sam’s hip, rubbed his cheek against the soft hair on Sam’s stomach and looked up. “What do you need, little brother?”

“Just…” Sam began. 

Dean eased himself up, slowly inched his way up Sam’s stomach, and smiled at the way it rose and fell with each laboured breath. He placed his hand either side of Sam’s head and lowered his mouth until it was mere inches from Sam’s.

“What?” Dean asked again.

Sam breathed in, held it. He kept his gaze fixed on Dean as he spread his legs wider, lifted his hips, his cock, hard and wet, brushing painfully against rough denim.

“I… Aaron… just…” Sam said, then stopped, and bit his lip, stared up at Dean almost pleading, and saw the look of understanding wash over Dean’s face. 

“You’re not my gay thing Sam,” Dean said, his voice urgent.

Dean lowered his head to kiss his brother, and whispered, “You are everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Following a conversation with a citrusjava about Dean’s “Gay Thing” and who said about Sam: _"Wow, all those years I assumed Dean would be a jerk if I told him!"_


End file.
